2004-05-06 - 5:32 a.m.

This is a long entry. It's a response to a fanfic video challenge at YourTaxDollarsatWork.org which is a cool site for CSI junk if you're so inclined.

I've edited this on 5/13/04 to add some to the end of the chapter and fix some junk I hated. Grissoms Hands

The heat made Sara restless.

That’s what she told herself.

The reason she allowed herself.

It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that Grissom was away, or the way that he left.

Unlike him though.

He had made a vague reference to a seminar, not saying whether he intended to be a speaker or attendee. Not that she cared.

How many entomology seminars can there be this week?

None. Well, none that her exhaustive Internet searching turned up. None that the Will Pratt knew about either. As the curator of the department of entomology at the Marjorie Barrick Museum at UNLV he would know right?

Stupid heat.

Her shift was over. Sara considered her options. Go back to her apartment, with the broken a.c. and noisy fans and obsess (about how HOT she was, of course), or stay within the cool and oddly more familiar halls of the lab?

The lab.

Because it was cooler here.

NOT because she felt closer to him here.

She walked the halls for forty-five minutes and then found herself outside his office. The light from the temperature chamber behind his desk threw a soft glow on the room. Dazed she stood, looking without seeing, chewing her bottom lip.


She started at Archie’s voice. “You okay?”

“Uh. Fine, yeah. I just…uh, I was trying to see if I left my book in Gris’s office.”

“Oh. Right. Well, I don’t think he locked it anyway. He doesn’t always because we have samples in there and stuff. I’m off for the night, see you tomorrow, Sara.”

“Right, night Arch.”

When she was again alone in the hall she tentatively touched the knob and the office door swung open. Her eyes cut left, then right before she entered swiftly.

Inside the office Sara breathed deeply. It smelled like him in here. Not the smell of his skin, but the smell of the things that came together to represent him. Formalin, latex gloves, old books, alcohol…a mix of the work they did, assaulting the nose.

She slid her hand along his desk, her mind automatically picturing his hand there days before. There had been a meeting in his office, no big deal; at least, she didn’t think it had been.

She had lost focus when she’d noticed his hand splayed firmly on the desktop, her mind had taken her in it’s own direction, exploring the possibilities of the hands of the man she had wanted for so very long.

A knock on the window…geez, Archie must be trying to give her a heart attack.

A grin from Archie “Find your book?”

Sara grabbed the first book she found on a desk riddled with them and left the office to meet the computer tech in the hall.

“Yeah. Thought you were out of here.”

“Forgot my disk. Night.”


Sara settled into a chair in the lounge, a case file and the book she had lifted from Grissom’s desk as companions.

The case file was an old one that still bothered her. She pulled it out frequently when she couldn’t sleep; always searching for the clue she missed.

She began with the book. THE BLANK SLATE: The Modern Denial of Human Nature by Stephen Pinker.

“Our conceptions of human nature affect every aspect of our lives, from child-rearing to politics to morality to the arts. Yet many fear that scientific discoveries about innate patterns of thinking and feeling may be used to justify inequality, to subvert social change, and to dissolve personal responsibility.”

She tried. She was actually fascinated, both by the book, and by what Grissom might have been searching for in it. Soon though, exhaustion took over and Sara was asleep, the side of her face resting on the book so recently held in the hands she coveted.

In her dream she is walking across campus. The night is brisk. Other students walk in pairs but Sara is alone. When she raises her glance to the building before her, her eyes land automatically on the window with the light on. Behind that window Dr. Gil Grissom grades her paper. She knows he is appraising her work at this exact moment, she can feel him carefully examine every theme she has presented for his approval.

She slows, uncertain as to whether she is ready to hear his criticism. Leaving her dorm room she had been full of pride, unable to wait until class tomorrow to hear him praise her work. Now, the closer she came, the less sure of herself she was, the tightening in her stomach a physical manifestation of the emotional investment of pleasing him.

With swiftness saved for dreams and vampires she found herself at his office door. He looked up and her gazed dropped.

“I…uh…you’re busy.”

“Sara Sidle. Come in. Sit down.”

“I was just wondering if you’d had a chance to uh…a chance to look at…”

“Your paper.”

He stood and moved around the desk. She had to lean back to look up at him, so close to her was his new position.

“Yeah. I was wondering what you thought.”

“What I thought? Or what I’m thinking?”

Confusion…mild panic as he bent his face close to hers, his breath warm against her cheek and ear.

“Naughty Sara. You’re not here for a grade, you’re here to feel my hands on you. Sara. Sara.”

Sara jumped awake and rubbed her temple, looking around the break room.

“Sleeping beauty.” Sara felt a flush at the form of Grissom in the doorway but recovered quickly.

“Prince Charming’s back I see. Fast seminar.”

“I missed you.”

Did he really just say that? Was she still dreaming?

He leaned on the wall, crossing one leg lazily in front of the other “You look like an angel when you sleep Sara.”

His voice was so even, in such control. She had no response; she merely licked her lips and stared at him.

“Mmmm, such tasty lips.”

“Gris, are you okay?”

“New and improved.” He arched his brows.

“What kind of seminar was this?” she asked with a smirk.

“A seminar of opportunity, Sara.” No smirk.

He moved and knelt in front of her. His head down he took her hand and kissed the underside of her wrist, a small smile of delight forming the corners of his mouth at her sharp inhale.

“For so long now Sara, I’ve watched you, and I’ve waited. I’ve taken my time and taken precautions. Nothing can go wrong now Sara. Every obstacle has been overcome.”

“Gris, what…what did you do? What’s changed?”

“I have. Tell me Sara. Tell me you want me, that’s all I need to hear.”

She tried to catch his eyes, to hold his gaze but he moved his face next to hers and whispered in her ear, “Tell me Sara, there’s nothing to lose, I won’t turn you down. I won’t run away.”

Before she met his hungry mouth she moaned it, “Want…oh, I want you Grissom.”

His insistence of venue…her place, hadn’t struck her as odd. She assumed he’d want to be able to leave when he wanted, and still held back, needing his own space.

Driving to her apartment seemed to take longer than it ever had. She tried to keep her breathing even, played what he had said over and over in her head. There was something unreal, something about this that felt off but she couldn’t put a name to it. She decided it was the suddenness of the turned tide. She had asked him to try; he had said he didn’t know how. Perhaps he had been soul searching instead of at a seminar.

They had taken their separate cars and when she’d instructed him that he needed to move his Tahoe to visitor parking and out of Old Lady Manning’s space he’d simply snarled that he had no patience for the mundane.

Upstairs he took her key to open the door when her own fingers fumbled.

“Do you want some wine, or a beer or …” The door clicked locked behind her.

“You Sara. I want you.”

His mouth was on her neck, hot and ferocious, his hands tore her tank top from her without hesitation.

Breathless Sara protested, “Gris, slow down, there’s no rush, let’s enjoy this.”

The words fell on deaf ears as he continued his hungry attack. His hands were rough on her skin, his teeth catching her right nipple and biting hard enough to draw blood.

“OW! Stop it! Grissom!”

She struggled to get away but he was too strong and soon she was on the floor, her slacks being shoved to her ankles as he held her upper body to the floor with his forearm.

Her mind raced to make sense of what was happening, to put order to the events unfolding.

“Why Grissom?” she choked out through tears.

“You want this Sara. You want me. Remember?”

“Not like this. I don’t want this!”

She bit his arm, raising an ugly bruise, but no reaction from the man obviously fueled by adrenaline and rage.

He caught her wrists in his hands and slammed her head back to the floor. Now two wrists in one hand, using the other to force himself inside her.

“You want me Sara. You said you did. You wanted this.”

She was screaming, tears flowing down her face. She looked up into his eyes and saw no trace of the man she had worshipped and desired for all these years.

The next few minutes passed like a flash of lightening, but would be played out in slow motion in her mind for years to come.

The sound of the door opening….yelling from the doorway…looking over the shoulder of this monster who was violating her to see the bruised and beaten face of…

His name escaped her throat with a shriek she would have never thought herself capable of “GILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL”

The monster stopped and turned to see his twin at the door. One bullet and he was dropped onto her, still hot and now heavy.

Sara was too shocked to roll out from under him. All she could do was lie on the floor, whimpering sentences she’d never remember, trying to make sense of what had happened.

Brass moved from behind Gil and went to pull Miles Grissom off Sara.

“He’s dead.” Brass’s only comment.

Gil didn’t speak. He pulled an afghan from the sofa and covered Sara. She looked into his eyes and swallowed hard, still trying to catch her breath.

He sat on the floor and pulled her into his arms, rocking her gently against him, “Shhhh, Sara, you’re okay now. I’m so sorry honey, but you’re safe now.”

Sara let him rock her. She watched his hands hold on to each other creating a circle of his arms. His knuckles were white, betraying the calm in his voice. Her glazed eyes followed Brass making a call for an ambulance on his cell phone ‘no hurry’.

When her breathing began to return to something close to normal she sat up, away from Grissom. She faced him, “I….need to….to clean up….” A shudder passed through her body. “I have to shower. Could you…ah…”


“Could you just sit outside the door and make sure no one…make sure…”

She began to cry again, long hard sobs that shook her entire body.

“You’re safe Sara. Go on.”

Her hands trembled and she swallowed when he said her name, so controlled, exactly the way HE had said it. She took a beat and went slowly to the bathroom.

Brass cleared his throat, “Good call, coming here. How’d you know he’d be here?”

Gil didn’t respond. He stood in front of the bathroom door like a sentry, his eyes locked on the fallen frame of his twin. If there was rage, or fear or any emotion at all it did not show.

Brass tried again. “Should she be showering? Shouldn’t so go to the hospital, have a…ah…a sart kit….”

If he had been trying to trigger emotion he had made a direct hit.

Anger thundered across Grissom’s face but his voice remained in complete control “No need. Sara does exactly what she wants to do. Nobody bothers her with anything.”

“Right. Should I call in one of your guys to…process…?”


Inside the bathroom Sara ran the water as hot as she could stand. Under the spray she scrubbed her skin until it glowed like a sunburn but still she could feel his hands on her.

The hands of Grissom, twin hands to those she had longed for. They said her name in an identical way, as if they owned the word. Her mind began to turn the two to one until she felt the terror of Gil becoming Miles.

Fear washed over her like water, fear that her safe haven had been corrupted and never again would she feel safe in her home much less her desire.

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